Saturday, December 2, 2017

It’s not every day
I sit at my desk at my old XP computer. However, yesterday I had a few things I
wanted to scan and knew I could do them more quickly positioned there.

As I was busily
approaching the end of my projects, I glanced out the window where I saw the
now familiar golf cart pulling an open wagon, slowing to a stop in front of our
house. A neighbor travels and that reminded me, “Oh, I meant to text (neighbor)
to remind her that we’re home enough that if she wanted to leave a note for
packages to be left here, we’d be happy to keep them until she is back to get
them.”

As I continued to watch, I became more
convinced I should have made the offer to my neighbor sooner, because the boxes
the young man and young woman were taking off the trailer, AND piling up, made
it impossible for me to turn away. At some point our dogs caught sight of the
happenings and when their barking increased, the pace my heartbeat did as well!
That young couple were coming up OUR walk with some of those boxes stacked in
their arms, then making a quick return back and forth to do likewise,
delivering fourteen boxes altogether! If you find it difficult to believe what
I am saying, you should have been with me to see what I was seeing! Oh, well,
here is a picture:

is it worth a thousand words? :-)

By then, I was at
the front door, and all I could say to the young folks was, “Our son is always
joking . . .” Since Chip and Sue were in Maine this past summer and each of the
boxes had the name of a city in Maine, BIDDEFORD, as part of their permanent
print. That was enough for me to make an automatic connection, but the boxes also
seemed to indicate the contents were electric mattress pads, twin and
king-size. Since they were clearly addressed to him, after John got home, he
opened a couple of the boxes that indeed, did contain electric mattress pads.

Receiving those when we did seemed akin to the
“late Friday afternoon Political News Dump”. It also brought to mind one May
evening in Maine many years ago. John came in from a trip to the coast saying, “I
brought something home for supper.” In his arms he was cradling only one box and
there were scritch-scratch sounds
emanating from it. I immediately though “lobsters”. I was wrong that time too!
It was, up until that moment ,motherless baby raccoons, You noticeI did say, “Up
until that moment”? At that moment those babies had five hearts with five sets
of willing hands to “mother” them as they’d never before been nurtured! But,
before we could securely do so, we had to check with a friend who said he’d let
the game warden know because it was illegal to have them (Oops!) and if he
came, we’d have to give them to him. The way he explained the law was, once you
have them, you cannot return them to the woods, you cannot keep them, you
cannot give them away, you cannot kill them . . .so-o-o, we “mothered” them and
kept them away from the 70 mph highway past our house that they not suffer the
same fate as their mother had. They had a home with us like fast-growing puppies,
until the early fall, when we asked a friend who had a fur-bearing license if
he’d add them to his menagerie. Thankfully he agreed to do so. That way we didn’t break any laws and we got
to go back to visit.

Hopefully these
boxes won’t be with us anywhere near as long as those raccoon babies were. We
have taken them in for now so Santa, if you’re pacing some store floor
somewhere in Missouri where the John Moore we have come to believe these
mattress pads were met to meet, they have a Texas home until someone comes
calling for them. (Perhaps I need rephrase that: if no one comes calling for
them, there will, of absolute necessity, be a space crunch in our patio home,
You see, because I wanted and my brother made, a wooden sign, “WESTWIND HOUSE” for
our 3-bedroom patio home, there have been folks who have mistaken it for
something other than a private dwelling. Just yesterday morning I posted an
explanation about that on my blog

I’ve had to laugh
as I’ve considered what those young ones thought as they delivered so many
mattress pads to such a small home! Westwind
House would have to have beds throughout the whole house packed nearly as
tightly as the boxes presently are in our front hall. Oh, well, it doesn’t
happen every day!

Thursday, June 15, 2017

When I recently beheld the picture of a friend cradling her
new grandbaby close to her breast, I made a comment similar to, “Looking at
this picture, I almost ‘get the sensation’!
Once you've had such, a true baby
whisperer NEVER loses the power to receive it!”

Following are a few remembrances that should help explain my
"true baby whisperer"
belief. From my teen years, I have had the absolute blessing of being able to
comfort a crying babe. It has brought me some of life’s most fulfilling
moments. A true baby-whisperer will
understand that comment; others reading this are likely to think, “Poor soul.”

Every one of us has heard a crying baby in any one of a
number of public places. I am not talking about just being aware of a noise; I
mean a sensation - a feeling – a
personal call from that particular baby directly to my heart. It is not to say
I am the only one who is able to help; it is to say, at that moment my heart’s
being called by that baby’s cry with a great desire to help.

There were the evenings when our daughter, a teen babysitter
called for me to be her momma’s help. By the time she’d call, she was nearly in
tears herself, begging me to come quiet the infant who, upon her arrival,
obviously had it figured out that he could frighten her. Then, once he started
crying, frightened himself so much, that he couldn’t stop until he felt the baby whisperer wrap the blanket around
his tiny body that up until then, had been taking turns in rigid rebellion and
wanting to give in, to the softness now wrapped around him. Within less than 45
seconds he had chosen the soft clouds of slumber, and I continued to cuddle
another five minutes or more to be sure he was really off in dreamland. (Or, was
the extra holding-close time more for my benefit, when it’s likely he was
already in a deeper slumber than I was ready to admit?) A most unexpected occasion arrived early one morning while I
was at work at a huge crafts and fabrics store. A young woman with a well-bundled
1-month-old came in planning to choose ribbons. Her baby girl had other plans.
Ribbons held no interest to the little one because she was searching for
immediate, direct attention from her mom. Anyone who has dealt with an infant
knows when a baby has its mind set, it’s sometimes difficult to distract them.
Likewise, in this situation for the young mom as she was trying to hold a
starting-to-squirm bundled baby with the one hand, while comparing colors as
she picked through rolls of ribbons with the other. Within seconds, the wiggles
from within the blankets became more vigorous while the sounds grew more
voluminous! I had already approached with an offer to help if the mom had any
questions or needed any help, then as usual, I had stepped back while staying reachable.
Once things started looking difficult, I questioned my actions a very few
seconds before I stepped closer with the hopeful offer, “I know you don’t know
me at all, but if you would let me, I would love to hold your baby while you
choose your ribbons.” It took less seconds for her to pass the little one to me
than for my offer to have been made! My having that baby in my arms made my
day, but of even greater importance, as soon as I started talking directly to
the little one, she began to stop her fussiness in order to study me, then pay
even closer attention to this stranger who was giving her the full attention
she had been seeking all along. Not only did the store have a successful ribbon
sale that morning, but I also had another in a good run of baby whispering experiences along with the long-lasting memory that
is more than a picture image in my mind. It truly is a “sensation of feeling” as well.

One of my most favorite, almost-unbelievable experiences was
with our own newborn granddaughter. Her parents had had to run an errand the
day they brought Emily home from the hospital, and because her Paw-Paw John
and I were there, we got to babysit with her 3-year-old sister Alyssa Sue, my
namesake, and Emily Shae, (her paternal grandmother’s namesake). Because the opportunity was presented with
such ease, with Emily on the waterbed, I decided it the perfect time to get a
few new-baby pictures. This was pre-digital camera days, so it’s likely it was after
we got back to our Ohio home from their Washington State abode before we saw
the pictures. Obviously I hadn’t lost my baby
whispering touch! The questions with which I was left are: was this newborn
laughing at me or smiling for me? Either way, there is no
denying, that was a smile! Our bond was immediate.

As most of you know, I seldom meet a stranger when I have
more than 90-seconds in a quiet space with a new-to-me person. At least 95-97%
of the time, the experiences are pleasant and I walk away feeling I have gained
a new friend. However as much as I love offering my help as a baby whisperer while making new friends
at the same time, there are occasions when I recognize it wise to restrain
both. John and I walked into a doctor’s office last week where a young mother
sat holding a dear little girl. I absolutely had to stop to admire the baby,
learned she was 3-months old, chatted briefly with the mom, smiled a lot at the
baby while talking a bit to her, then said my goodbyes and left to join John in
the row of seats behind. The baby was very peaceful while her mom held her as
the grandmother sat by them filling out paperwork. With the paperwork
completed, the grandmother could not wait to get her hands on that baby! When with
the mother’s permission, I was right there in spirit with the grandmother …
until … she picked the baby up under her arms to hold her out away from her to
be able to get eye contact. The baby was safe enough but was obviously uncomfortable.
Eye contact not being gained, grandmother rather swiftly moved the little one
onto first one shoulder, then the other, bouncing the baby up-and-down,
up-and-down, most of the time, not allowing her time to settle in any one
position. Soon, she sat the infant in her lap, and tried to force her to cuddle
as she had been doing with her mother 5-6 minutes earlier when the
probably-by-now-dizzy-one started to protest, then fuss. Minutes ago, I
had wanted to do so! That’s when the mother turned from her texting as she
realized the baby seemed needy, gave her a pacifier, then some liquid in a
bottle. Now, Grandma held the baby quite still in her lap, cuddled against her body.
No more protests as the now once-again comfortable child fell asleep. Whew!
Now, I could rest, too . . . until I think about it all over again!

Earlier I mentioned my teenage start with the seeming
almost-expected acceptance of babies and me to one another. The years in
between only encouraged and increased “the sensation” as I took part in
helping/teaching the infants in the church nurseries in Northern Maine-Tucson,
Arizona-Rantoul, Illinois- and finally in San Angelo, Texas. Now, those wee
ones are either married or preparing their weddings! It’s a bit sad to me, and
I think for them, that the
sensation has passed between these very ones and me. An age has come when
though many still know my name, they no longer remember my heart. While it’s
true that much attention is given to the fact that elderly are forgetful, I
wonder if there might be more camaraderie between the opposite ends of the age
spectrum if more emphasis were put on the “sensations remembered”.

I believe this “sensation” or “baby whispering” as some call it, is a gift from God. While for a
long time I was able to use it in a more active manner, my arms and heart still
hold the security an infant desires. Now, as I continue along the way, my
ability allows me to share and to teach what I’ve gleaned. It is truly a joyful
sensation to share what I’ve learned
to try to make life more comfortable for current mother/caregiver and infant.

(c) M Sue 6-15-2017

p.s. Some of the VIPs upon whom I have been blessed to share Baby Whispering sensations:

Friday, June 2, 2017

I have no time for
adding more because I am not getting done what I should. I have little energy
to accomplish what I absolutely must. However, with a couple of straight stitch
projects that have been waiting, either for a machine to borrow or, as a friend
offered, for her to do, when I mentioned a sewing machine, my husband said, "Get
one."

That comment was
all the “go-ahead” encouragement needed for me to start an Internet search. I
was pleasantly surprised to find a less-than-expected prices for machines I
liked. After I had read the qualities of this one and the other, I narrowed my
search and took my laptop to my husband to look at as he sat in his recliner.
As I showed him the one I felt I would be comfortable for me to work with, before
I could explain much more than that, he swiftly reached out and poked the
"Buy Now" button!

For once in our
life together, I was (almost) speechless! So, I completed the order delivery
process and was able to pick up the machine the following day. I also brought
my sewing boxes from their hiding places and was delighted to find the bobbins I
used in my worn-out machine from many years past still usable. Now, the sewing
machine is waiting ~ for those straight stitch projects that have been “on hold”
~ plus at least a couple doggie belly bands to be made. We call them
"Speed-Os" for our little male dog...after all, what proud male dog
wants to wear a "belly band"? After that, if I can avoid mending, I
will be most happy; otherwise, I will repeat Eeyore's favorite saying,
"Oh, bother!" oft-times! It has been years since I did anything
except hand-mending.

…and yet…

Just as I was writing
all this, I remembered! John’s and my
first apartment was a furnished corner basement apartment in a city dwelling
that went from 89-99 Marian Street in Brookline, Massachusetts. In it we had
all that newlyweds needed that one would expect, but I had a lot of time and desire
to sew with no machine. Therefore, the first piece of furniture we bought after
our marriage was a Model 99K Singer Sewing Machine in a cabinet, a floor model
so not only was it one with which I was very familiar, but also it was on sale!

Looking back
perhaps that should have been a forewarning to John about what was ahead
regarding my ability to find and make use of sales. Because of our several
moves and houses bought and sold, he developed the tale that “I once had trouble
selling that one house with the escalator in the back yard.” Of course people
had to question him as to what that had to do with me and my buying sale items.
“Yeah, Sue always would buy anything marked “DOWN”.

But back to that
little Model99K and me: we stitched many miles together! We made clothes for maternity,
baby, toddler, First-Day-of-School,
School-Play-Costumes, and Special-Occasions-Along-The-Way.
Model 99K was still working when she went to live with other family members in
the following generations. Her replacement in the years in between wore out,
thus the replacement for her replacement has come to grace our home. I wonder
what memories she and I will create.

Sunday, April 30, 2017

There is just
something built inside, a God-given spirit to nurture. Some of us recognize it
earlier than others, and for some it’s fulfilled in different ways.

As this Mother’s
Day draws near, I am once again reminded that this imagery we tend to have of
MOTHER is that of first taking that solid little body into our arms to hold in
gentle firmness against our breasts while at the same moment holding forever in
our hearts. However, the point of view from the infant at that time is one of looking around in wonder. Recent thoughts have come to mind that from the child, there is a great
deal forever unrecognized about their mother.

One way that has
come to light has been in that my mother was a firm believer that animals
helped teach children responsibility. Thus, we had a family dog, my brother and
I each had a cat at one point. One late spring day as I walked home from our
country school, my mother and my brother, Kent, age 12, were huddled in the
grass by our house when I heard Kent, as though upset, say, “Don’t let Marilyn
see this!” Mamma hurried me right into
the house and told me, “Sonny Boy is dying.” What? Sonny Boy was my beloved,
smooth-haired, yellow and white striped kitten. How could he be dying? He was
too young to die! (This was right after WW2 and vet visits were for people with
more money than we had, plus country cats were just that – country cats.) Sonny
Boy had worms, apparently from an unhealthy mother. My 8-year-old broken heart
must have been nothing compared to the one my brother suffered as a result of
his careful attendance of Sonny Boy’s death and probable burial. Hopefully, his
Jeep cat brought him some cuddling comfort, or, more likely, our dog, Peggy.

Not too long
after, when we visited our maternal grandparents, as so often was true, there
were kittens for our playing pleasure. This time, having asked permission from
my parents beforehand, Grammie gently picked one tiny grayish-striped one with
an almost black pointy tail from the box , offered it to me with the explanation,
“The mother kitty of this one is old. She doesn’t have enough milk for all of
her babies. If you think you can raise this one, she can be yours, but you will
have to feed her milk from a dolly’s bottle for a while.”

“Oh, yes, Grammie!
Yes, I can do it! Thank you!” Thus, baby
kitty was passed from grandmother’s hands into my waiting, cradled arms. Today,
I can almost relive the ride home in the one-seat pick-up truck , still
cuddling my mewling kitten, and Daddy’s wondering, “What have we gotten
ourselves into this time?” attitude. (He was not fond of cats, but he did love
his little girl!)

We named this
beautiful, almost Maine Coon Kitten, Tippy because she had white tips, one on
each of her four paws. With her close-up striking coloring view of
tan-black-white, she had a defined “M” in her forehead. Mamma told me that was
for Marilyn. Tippy thrived on her diet of milk; I thrived on being her mamma as
I had to hand-feed her several times each day and sometimes during the night
those first few nights! She suffered through my dressing her in doll clothes
and loved being cuddled close. Within a year or so she became a mamma kitty
herself and before long we all became city folk. Tippy tolerated the move well
until several years later she got poison somehow, “probably from killing a
poisoned rat,” and after most of a week at the vet’s which our family could
ill-afford, the vet said, “She lived just because she wanted to.” She also had
God and prayers on her side and a good vet who was opened New Year’s weekend!

Following that episode, her health declined and there came a time in which we
knew the best parts of her life had passed. Having the services of a vet was a
blessing and with the decision made, my mother took the deed upon herself. This
was no simple task: my mother did not drive and Daddy was at work during vet
hours. My brother was away in the AF. and so while I was in school, my mother
(once again in helping me avoid the pain of separation) took Tippy on the bus,
likely having to change buses at least once on what was about a 5-mile trek one
way, to the vet. We did not have a kennel, so Tippy was probably cuddled close
to my mother’s tremoring breast all the way. Wiping tears that had to have been
falling must have been painful, troublesome, and even a bit embarrassing all
along the way. How I wish I had been thoughtful enough to go with her! So often
that thought returns when I remember this trip my mother made to save me from
pain.

This was all
brought back to me “in full living color” this past week as I writhed in my
mind over what our daughter and her daughter were painfully suffering. A far
different time, but not such a different scenario was being played out. A
little girl once asked, “Can I please keep this kitten? I’ll even pay to have
her fixed.” And so a companionship began for the kitty’s lifetime with the
little girl through high school-college-into marriage but now Minny Kitty
needed medical care that the vet felt could be accomplished with surgery since
all the blood tests indicated “Okay.” Minny Kitty had been brought to the
trusted vet at the growing-up home and since her Emily Girl had to return to
her home to work, the grandmother person, the “Mama’s Momma”, was there to
nurture and comfort. The antibiotics for an ear issue were given faithfully
until that last evening prior to surgery when Minny Kitty seemed to say, “Not
tonight. I’m tired. I’m old. Surgery is not the answer.” With the signs given
of a possible stroke and past the vet’s open hours, the Mama-Grand-momma sat
holding Minny Kitty in as comfortable a position as tolerable for her while
both were on the floor. A little mewing from Minny Kitty seemed to say, “Thank
you for loving me so much,” as she took another brief breath or two and went to
sleep in the nurturing arms of love.

For those same
nurturing arms of love that once first held her baby Emily Shae back to the
arms of my mother who once first held and nurtured me, little knowing the
prices they would pay for loving us so much, beyond the pain they had just
endured, we could ask, “Would you do it again, or is it too high a personal
price?”